


Index Daemona

by Venchaser



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Fairies, Fluff, Hurt, Knight!Derek, Knight!Stiles, M/M, Magic Books, Magic Summoning, Magic!Stiles, Necromancers, Sassy Witches, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Student!Stiles, Werewolves, epic adventure, mythical creatures, student!derek, warrior!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venchaser/pseuds/Venchaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ON A VERY SHORT HIATUS. During the Great Fire of London, Lucifer was released. In the fire, two knights, Stiles and Derek, were struck by tragedy. One of them stumbled in an eternal sleep. A powerful witch grants him the chance to be reunited with his fallen lover. The spell binds their souls together, and they will be reborn in another time. Perhaps in another world, said the witch.</p><p>Now, Stiles Stilinski, History Major, gets paired up for a joint term paper with Derek Hale. He's torn between the feelings of love and hate, but puts those aside to finish the assignment: a re-analysis of the events that occurred during the Great Fire of London.<br/>When the two stumble upon a curious tome in a hidden section of the university's archives, will history repeat itself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically Book of Fire, but with the names switched, so we start off immediately with Stiles and Derek.  
> Please leave comments and kudos :)
> 
> Enjoy!

## Prologue

Let me tell you a tale of old. A story where not everything that glitters is gold. To blame the maid is an unfair deed, thus I shall reveal the true culprit of this misdeed. Let me take you back where it all began, the seed of sin ignited in one frail man.

_2 nd September 1666, London._

The man trembled in the damp basement. Five strategically placed torches illuminated the desperation of his face. In front of him an intricate circle, filled with strange symbols, blasphemous diagrams and ancient knowledge was drawn. The vile miasma constricted his lungs, breathing was difficult. Each inhalation felt like a thousand daggers being plunged into his life. There was no turning back. He could hear the king’s knights searching the upper floor, the iron of their swords rhythmically clanking against their chainmail, panic seeped through their commands. By the time they would have found him, it would be too late.

He lifted the heavy grimoire next to him from perdition and opened the diabolical book on the destined page. The ritual had begun.

There was a sense of impending doom among the knights. They had searched the holy grounds thoroughly, but hadn’t found any clues revealing the whereabouts of the monk. A warning had revealed itself in the form of a mysterious woman earlier that day.

The old crone appeared before the king, her face hidden well within the darkness of her cape. She informed the mighty ruler and his counsellors that a forbidden book had disappeared from the royal catacombs. The _Liber Daemona_. The sovereign did not heed the old woman and instead laughed in her face, threatening to have her locked up for wasting his time. A coy smile crept on the crone’s features.

‘A friendly warning is all I offer thee, my liege. It’d be wise to follow my advice and search the local monastery.’

‘Enough of this nonsense.’ His majesty, unfortunately, did not have the wisdom nor the patience to deal with the ramblings of the ancient woman. ‘Throw this disgusting hunchback in the dungeons, see how longs she bears the company of gnawing rats.’ A cruel grin played on the king’s lips, revealing his rotten teeth, blackened and stained.

No, the king was not wise, nor was he a just ruler. He was corrupted by greed and vanity, he let his own people starve while he feasted every night with an excessive, private banquet. Only interested in his own gain.                                                                                                                                               

The palace guards closed in on the woman, who was bent by the ruthless hand of time. She let out a small exasperated groan. She raised her cherry wood cane and tapped the cold stone floor once. The sound of a cannon thundered and bounced between the walls of the enormous hall, shaking the walls and cracking the luxurious stained-glass windows. An unearthly pressure forced the guards to their knees. The king was pushed deeply into his throne, ripping the velvet cushioning and crushing the ornate legs. Everyone was baffled by the sudden turn of events. The woman vanished into thin air, leaving behind a cackling laugh and a message.

‘If thou had only listened. If thou had only been kind.’ These croaking words haunted the hall for several hours, trapped in the ears of every inhabitant of the castle.

Stubbornly and foolhardily the king refused to send his knights to reconnaissance the monastery for any suspicious activity. Instead, he stomped out of the throne room and ordered artisans to come and repair his precious seat. If I get my hands on that witch, he thought, full of contempt, I’ll let her burn on the stake. Roast the flesh of her bones.

The sun had reached its highest peak and shone mercilessly on the city of London. Its heat was baking the pavements and the citizens. Somewhere, amid that furious city, two young knights sought refuge in the cooling shadows of the royal stables. The taller knight pushed the younger one in a pile of hay and jumped on him. Panting and sweating, they wrestled and frolicked. Little beads of sweats rolled over their foreheads and under their shirts.

‘Aah,’ the young knight managed to speak in short huffs of exhaustion. ‘Hmm, I surrender. Aha, stop it, I surrender!’ His laugh was wheezy.

The older knight flashed a cocky grin ‘Naturally, I always win, Stiles. I thought you knew that by now?’ He rustled his hand through his sticky dark hair and dropped himself next to Stiles. He turned to his side. Plucked a strand of hay out of Stiles’ chocolate hair.

A healthy blush coloured both their faces. Giving his companion a smug look of disbelief, Stiles hummed haughtily. A few horses whinnied, stamping their hooves against the cobbled floor

 ‘That’s not what I heard, Derek. I eavesdropped one of the maids. Apparently, you got quite the whipping by Lady Pensworth after humiliating her when you refused a certain offer.’ Stiles wiggled his eyebrows.

‘What can I say,’ Derek pulled himself closer to Stiles. ‘When my heart already belongs to another?’

Stiles pressed his hand against Derek’s chest, stopping him from coming closer.

‘As much as I want to taste those delightful lips, it’s too risky here.’ He looked around cautiously before swooping in himself and giving a short peck on his lover’s lips. He then lifted himself up and shortly after pulled up Derek too, who still laid contently in the hay, savouring his victory and reward. ‘Come on then, let’s go up to the loft, it’ll be a bit more private there.’ Stiles said excitedly, giving an exaggerated wink.

‘Hmm, I wonder for what purposes.’ Derek languidly replied.

*

Their tranquil time in the stables was rudely interrupted by the urgent ringing of the palace chimes. They bells were only rung in case of dire emergency.

They met up with the rest of their squad the knights’ quarters before dashing to the palace. Derek, being higher in rank, led the troops. Towering high above them, the clock tower sang its metallic song. Their hurried footsteps echoed through the desolate corridors. Empty suits of armour vigilantly watched over them.

In the throne room they found their lord in a state of incoherent terror, mumbling the same thing over and over again. He stood hunched next to his throne. A few maids had gathered in a corner, whispering secretively, shooting concerned glances at the forming mass. They assembled in front of him, but no one could tell apart any distinct words or even syllables. The rhythm and staccato breaths remained constant. His voice would raise ever so slightly, before plummeting again in a darkness, hands clasped together like in a pious prayer. Madness glistened in his eyes, pupils dilated and his shoulders, stooped, shook with excruciating ecstasy.

Derek bravely took a step forward, tried to calm the reduced king, but a single touch made the king go rigid with fear. His majesty entered an agitated state, enraged by those surrounding him, foam mixed with scarlet stream seeped out of the corners of his cracked lips. He collapsed.

Several more knights, accompanied by palace guards, entered, escorting the bishop and altar boys, each one carrying a reliquary.

The bishop kneeled in front of the king. A pensive expression deepened the wrinkles of his fading face. Silently, he motioned one of the children to come closer. The screams of the monarch pierced the stagnant air. With a swift gesture the cleric retrieved a golden cross with a sapphire embedded in its middle from the little chest. He began praying vigorously.

Stiles couldn’t see a lot of what was happening. He only saw the bishops wine-coloured robes, bent over the king, flowing graciously over the ecclesiastic’s shoulders. The holy words were countered by a lunatic laughter that had replaced the penetrating screams.

He clicked his tongue. He gently laid the cross back on the silvery cushion of its container. He commanded a few of the knights and guards, Derek included, to hold down his majesty and open the king’s mouth. Meanwhile, amidst the chaos of restraining the suffering man, the bishop suddenly held a small wooden flask in his right hand. Most likely holy water, Stiles thought. The tangled scene that unfolded in front of him disturbed him to his core. The purifying water was poured into the ruler’s dark cavity. The spasms of his limbs slowly died out and his breathing was no longer erratic. The violent outburst of vulgarity and laughter ebbed away.

The king remained lying on the floor, but faintly held on to his knights. Drained from his strength, he focussed whatever was left of it to leave a message. His voice was hoarse, like a lone wandered in a sea of sand.

‘That witch, that bloody woman, she was right. A vision, a vision I saw. Fire, devious licks of fire,’ He was interrupted a vicious fit of coughing. Gathering the last remnants of his light, he continued ‘Devious serpent of hell twirling, twisting and constricting the city with their venomous bodies. Engulfing London in a sea of flames. Black fumes poisoning our lungs. Murder, murder. Aah, the suffering. I can hear their cries already.’

He turned bloodshot eyes to the bishop. A flicker of recognition flashed through his eyes.

‘The monastery. He is at the monastery. Lucifer!’ Widespread eyes, a small river of blood awoke. Tears for the lost kingdom.

Wasting no time, the bishop took immediate control, giving out abrasive orders to everyone in the hall. Palace guards were instructed to safeguard the king. Knights were to gather at the command station to prepare a potential wild goose chase in the monastery. The sacred building was enormous, rivalling the size of the royal palace.

The station was located just outside the castle walls: a compound of wooden barracks housing all the knights, the pages and the horses, who stayed in the adjacent stables.

The turbulent state in and around the castle hindered the organizing of the cavaliers. Derek, together with six other commanders, tried to direct their troops orderly. It proved to be quite the challenge. Rumours of exorcism, devils, betrayal, treason and poisoning crawled through the ranks like vermin. The seven commanding knights stood on a platform, surveying the others. In their eyes, the knights resembled ants, swarming and creeping without a goal. Fruitlessly trying to form straight lines.

‘Listen up, men. Your business lies not with gossiping like fishwives or acting like tricksters spreading panic. Your job is to find every suspicious individual in the monastery. Do not let trepidation weaken your resolve. Focus on the task at hand.’ yelled one of the commanders. His brown beard quivered with excitement. Stiles recognized the man as Sir Griffon. A veteran knight who, despite his short stature, fought many heroic battles for England and was victorious on multiple occasions during tournaments.  The man lived for war and battles.

‘Commanders Derek and James will take the ground floor. Commanders Isaac and I will lead the search on the first and second floor. Commanders William and John will comb the monastery grounds and graveyard for any strange individuals.’

He raised his sword aloft, its blade reflecting the sun over the troops. A brilliant ray of hope.

‘For the King! For England!’

*

The sun whispered its last rays before evaporating in the river Thames. The final beams of twilight set the heavens aflame. A palette of orange, pink, purple and crimson coloured the clear sky. Yet, dark clouds had formed above the monastery. They resembled black fumes, an abyssal whirlpool, and ashes already were scattered in the air.

All monks were collected in the courtyard. The knights were backed up by a few good men and some palace guards. A counsellor oversaw the circus: all clerics were lined up, and they were intensely questioned by the troops of Commander John. The rest of the knights were still busy scurrying through the cloister, trying to find to source of the diabolical clouds.

Stiles sped up his pace to catch up with Derek, who was starting to get frustrated. 

The sun had finally set, and in its place the moon had now taken its rightful place on heaven’s throne. The search had been going on for hours.

‘We’ve nearly searched the entire place thrice and not a single clue. Damn these demons to Hell!’

‘Hey, Derek. Stay calm, keep your mind clear. We’ll get through this.’ Stiles gave a Derek a solid squeeze on his shoulder.

‘Besides,’ his sentences were ragged because of the strenuous patrolling. ‘Maybe the others have found something already. We just have to do our part and then report back.’

Derek eyed him wearily. The air was humid, a vile stench infiltrated their noses, and underneath their chainmail armour they were drenched in sweat. The walls seemed to radiate like glowing embers. A distinct sound could also be heard in the entire building, like the cracking of wood in a fire. The sound of destruction.

‘Men, final round and then we’ll inform Counsellor Charles of our patrol.’ Derek was tired. The muscles in his neck were stiff. His iron armour began to feel like a burden, and his heart seemed to weigh heavier than an anvil.

They turned around the corner and arrived at the entrance hall, which had a massive oaken staircase in the centre, decorated with various creatures depicted in the Bible. The wooden panelling and beams also depicted biblical scenes. On top of the wooden pillars were carved gargoyles and ghouls. 

Stiles could hear Isaac and Griffon yelling at each other. Really, they sounded like a bickering couple sometimes. A chuckle escaped his lips and got a few stares from his fellow mates. One of them even shook their head lamentably. Stiles could almost hear them thinking he’d gone mad from all the stress and heat. Derek and the others had already entered the gallery left from the stairs, when Stiles noticed a yellow-greenish substance near the left pillar at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Is that pus?’ he asked no one in particular, oblivious to the fact the rest had already moved on.  He moved closer, crouched and rolled the powder between his fingers. He took a whiff of it and retched.  God, what is that horrid smell? Rotten eggs? He dry-heaved once more as he stepped away, vision impaired by forming tears. The presence of the strange powder, however, compelled him to give the staircase a second glance. The closer he inspected the wood, the surer he was something was off. After tracing along the illustrations of the pillar with his slender fingers, he quickly found a strange rune carved on the forehead of one the creatures.

A simple brush lit the rune up and revealed a hidden path on the side of the staircase. He called for help, but no one answered. He hesitated to try and catch up with his squad, but he felt he was onto something big. He gave a few more cries, one for help, one to inform there was a hidden door in the entrance hall, and a last one, which was a hidden message for Derek.

‘I think I’ve seen a wild rose!’ he screamed from the top of his lungs. The reference to the wild rose was a sweet childhood memory. When they were just young lads, playing together in the fields, Derek once made the comment that he had seen the most exquisite wild rose. Stiles had given him a confused look. ‘There aren’t any wild roses around here,’ he cried in disbelief.  Young Derek stopped just in front of him, their foreheads touching. ‘I meant you’.

Stiles peered deep into the darkness of the hidden passageway. He could just see faint light at the bottom of the stones steps. Tentatively, he descended into the unknown. He drew his sword, prepared for potentially instant combat. While sinking deeper in the void, a spell of nausea manifested itself right in his stomach, climbing all to way up to his throat. The smell of rotten eggs and rotten flesh was overpowering. His eyes watered. Each step was a step closer to Hell; the initially uncomfortable heat had intensified into a searing burn that scorched his exposed skin. He discarded his chainmail, which did more harm than good at the moment.

He neared an opened door, blasphemous verses touched his ears. A Satanic roar was intertwined with the hollow voice of a broken man. The cleric stood before a pulsating magic circle, a direct link with Hell.

An ancient voice spoke in an unknown tongue; its tone aloof yet feral.

‘Go, bid my will.’ The monk replied.

Stiles could only catch a quick glimpse of the fiery beast before his eyes locked with the maniacal glint of the monk.

With the disappearance of the entity, the temperature seemed to have dropped. The room however was still smouldering. Seemingly unfazed by the fire, the monk dashed towards Stiles. A crude ceremonial dagger, made of bone, tore the skin of Stiles’ cheek. His stamina was drained, but he managed to avoid to next series of slashes. He protectively raised his sword, deflecting the hits, waiting for an opening in the frenzy of strikes. The frenzied eyes of the monk laughed at his inability to attack. The roof had started to crumble due to intense fever. Stiles tripped and lost his defensive stance. Leering above him, the monk raised the blade, ready to kill. Stiles, in a last attempt to escape, pushed off the ground backwards, only to meet a stubborn wall.

Stiles shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow. It never came. When he opened his eyes, he saw a faint trickle of blood dripping out of the madman’s mouth. He stumbled and staggered, processing what had happened. He squinted at the sharp blade that pierced his chest as if he was processing what had just happened. Behind him stood Derek, panting uncontrollably. The demon summoner, in his final moments, dragged himself to the circle, the ceremonial blade still clenched in his fist. The moment he crossed the first line of the magic circle, it illuminated brilliantly, followed by a blinding light which filled the room. Derek shielded Stiles from the flash, wrapping him in his arms protectively. When the light had died out, the circle was nothing more than a collection of incoherent symbols and lines. The monastery shook and started crumbling down.

‘Let’s get you out.’ Derek threw Stiles’ left arm over his shoulder and together they **fled** the basement chamber.  

‘Looks like you found your rose, eh?’ a watery smile poured over Stiles’ chapped lips.

Their movements were impeded by falling debris and a thick grey dust which infested their nostrils and airways. The flames had seized the monastery and voraciously consumed its walls and support.  The entrance hall was nothing more than a grey cloud of ash. Pillars, weakened by the fire, came crashing down. The adrenaline rushed through their veins. Derek could see the great doors, wide-open. So close yet years away. A moan from Stiles motivated his feet to keep moving. Trying to avoid any falling wood or rubble, he made it to the entrance gates, still supporting Stiles.

Derek expected a rejuvenating breath of fresh air once they were outside, but the miasma and ashen clouds had spread over the entire city. The destructive fire now controlled the city, incinerating everything and everyone on its path. Terror spread among the ranks as they were faced with an uncontrollable calamity.

He dropped to ground, slumped over a patch of dry grass, dry-heaving. After a few retches, he turned his attention to Stiles, who lay serenely staring at the grey heavens. The burns that previously disgraced his juvenile features had disappeared though the deep gash still remained on his cheek. Derek’s frown deepened as he tried to wake the sleeping beauty.

‘Wake up, mate. No time for resting.’

He pulled Stiles up and shook the sleeper’s shoulders, but his head only drooped down like a doll.

‘Stiles?’

Derek gave Stiles a couple more shakes, slapped his cheek a few times, before he noticed a revolting crimson stain on the boy’s side. He glanced down to his hands to find them covered in the innocent’s blood. His heart sank and hysteria tinted his voice.

‘Stiles? Stiles? Wake up. Don’t do this. We had plans. Cottage by the cliffs. Hey. Don’t sleep.’

Griffon came to see what the ruckus was about. He noticed the fallen knight.

‘I also lost a few men in that building.’ I nodded nonchalantly towards the ruins. ‘Seen it a dozen of times. Won’t be the last ti-.’

‘I do not care about the others,’ Derek spitted out every syllable like venom. He tried to control his sobs.

‘I see.’ Griffon looked with disgust at the two men. ‘I will deal with this later.’ Griffon returned to his knights and began giving out orders. The other commanders were either trying to calm the monks, who observed at the cataclysm with incredulity, the pillars of their faith shaken, or were regrouping their ranks.

Among the preparing knights and weeping monks stood a frail old woman. With a firm grip on her cane she began hobbling towards the howling knight. She seemed apathetic towards the inferno raging all around.

‘Life has not been kind to thou.’

Derek scanned the woman’s appearance. She had a kind face. Little pieces of ember and ash floated in the air, reflecting in her misty eyes.

‘If thou had the chance, wouldst thou safe thy friend?’

A spark ignited in the verdant forest of Derek’s eyes.

‘Can you truly do that?’

‘Yes. But it comes with a price.’ Her smile turned crooked.

The determination in his chest was awakened, and it would be stopped by no one, or nothing.

‘Then I shall pay that price.’

‘Follow me then.’

*

Meanwhile, high above in the castle’s tower, assessing the turbulent state, stood a cloaked individual. Her cape was unable to conceal her lustrous ginger hair.

‘Seems Lucifer came out to play. You can do this, Martin.’

*

The witch guided the knight and the eternal sleeper to the outskirts of the city. Stiles had been lifted onto a borrowed cart which was pulled by Derek. They crawled through the smoking web of streets, avoiding the panicking masses. After about two hours, they had safely left the city of cinders and were now crossing the country. The gigantic cloud of soot could be seen even from up here. It appeared threatening and biblical. As if the scene of a Greek myth, or a lesson of the Bible, was being re-enacted. God’s hand descending on earth.

‘What is happening?’ Derek managed to speak, the initial shock gone.

‘Heaven knows.’ She answered, and then giggled like a young maiden. There was something she was holding back, but Derek’s mind was slow, traumatized and tired. He also simply did not care anymore. Stiles was gone. What was it to him the city burned? There was no more future for him.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Nevermore Woods.’

The woods were dark and deep. No sign of life to be seen or heard. The only sounds were the wind which rustled the leaves and the creaking of the wooden wheels of the cart. The moon was obscured by the leafy roof.

The witch told Derek to pick up Stiles. ‘Leave the wagon.’ she said.

They were entering a part of the forest where the ground was infested with humongous tree roots and near impenetrable thickets. Easily avoiding the rough patches, unrelenting branches and cruel thorns, the enchantress moved like a young deer through Nature’s claws. However, it was a challenge for the brave lover to conquer the tricky maze of flora. The dimness concealed treacherous roots and rocks and tripped over one of them more than a few times.

‘A little help would be nice.’ He could not help but to mutter it sardonically.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ the witch’s voice had changed along with her posture, Derek noticed. Her hunchback was gone and the once grey hair now was obsidian, a starless night.

Derek held his tongue, but could not help but wonder if this was the sorceress’s true form.

‘Age is but an illusion for those possessing magic.’ She explained, skipping ebulliently from stone to stone.

‘You can read minds, then?’ he wondered aloud.

‘No, your face is easy to read.’ Along with age and appearance, everything else had seemed to have changed; mannerisms, speech and humour.

They continued their arduous journey for what seemed like days. Derek’s throat was perched and his skin was still raw in places from the fire. His muscles were aching for rest and his mind begged for sleep. Yet, his heart kept going, and so did he. Step by step, each one closer to his salvation.

 ‘We’re here.’  In front of him stood once again a decrepit woman, an impish glint in her eyes.

They had reached a clearing. The hostile environment had turned into an enchanted paradise; luminous mushrooms huddled together near tree trunks, a babbling stream cascaded in a glittering, iridescent pool, the grass had an almost bluish hue and the moon shone bright.

She stood in the centre of the glade, and drew magic runes in the air. Immediately, a crystal magic circle had formed around her. She stepped carefully outside the area and beckoned Derek, cradling Stiles, to enter. He gingerly moved to the circle’s nexus.

The witch sang a single syllable and the circle lit up and the runes, symbols and signs started rotating. A strong gust picked up and a harmony of leaves accompanied.

Her voice rung loud and clear: ‘This spell will bind your souls together and let them be reborn. When and where I cannot foresee. Perhaps even in another world thou shalt be re-joined.’ She cackled, her brittle teeth chattering.

‘Names, memories. All gone. Just the essence remains. The price is a life. And an unwavering bond of love. Seeing our dearly departed friend is unable to meet the requirements…’

‘You need not finish that sentence. I shall gladly give my life for a second chance.’ His senses fixed on Stiles. He seemed so peaceful.

‘A world where we can be together. Without judgement.’ He fondly caressed Stiles’ hair.

The eyes of the crone softened. Though her heart had been poisoned by the wickedness of society, the resolute determination and pure-hearted love of the young man healed a small portion of it.

‘I cannot promise a perfect world. Magic is fickle, and has a will of its own. Tis a-‘

‘I’ll take that risk.’

‘Very well.’

She recited a few mysterious lines and a verdant tome materialized together with a standard of ivy.

‘Book of the fay. _Liber Fati_.’

A squall swirled volume’s pages. The witch began chanting. A few lines in the enchantment an unseen voice joined in. It was an angelic voice; high and sweet. A rosy aura surrounded the old magician, which grew more intense with each note. The diagrams and circles of the circle began to twist and turn faster, becoming a pulsing blur of light. In the beginning there had been a slight discord between the two voices, but now they began to synchronize, interlacing with each other. They rose in a crescendo, a harmony. The voices had become one, and they reached the finale.

The spinning circles came to a sudden halt. The crystal appeared to liquefy and flowed to Derek and Stiles in a twisting motion. Derek buried his head in the crook of Stiles’ neck, ready for impact. The crystal vines scaled up his legs, to his chest, enfolding Stiles too, and then covered his face. The liquid spread and sealed both of them in protective crystal. For a moment nothing happened. The witch stared intently, unknowingly holding her breath. The incandescent statue reflected the moon’s beams. Its beauty was sublime, the effigy of love. She dismissed the tome, grabbed her came and turned her back to the two boys.

The statue remained there for centuries, unharmed by storm or wind. It stood there as a symbol of hope and love and life. Untouched or unseen by any human being. And after so many eras, wars, and wasted lives, the first cracks appeared.  And not before long they turned into fissures. And finally, the crystal had become so frail the statue shattered in a crystalline sand when a gentle gust touched it. The wind blew the remnants away, off to a new destination.


	2. When Stiles met Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the unrevised chapter 2! Enjoy! As always, please leave kudos and comments so I know what you think in order for me to improve my story :)  
> unbeta'd sorry for the mistakes!

The lecture hall was nearly empty, only a dozen of students had shown up, to the great annoyance of the professor in the front. A faint hint of twilight shimmered down via the tiny roof window, casting a sombre shadow over the students’ heads. Occasionally, the creaking of wooden seats would interject the flavourless monologue.

Stiles doodled a bit on a sheet of paper while energetically nibbling on a biro. The professor’s lecture passed Stiles without leaving any meaning. Next to him, his friend, Isaac, took the information to heart, passionately scribbling down even the pauses and stops. I’ll ask to borrow those notes later, Stiles thought absent-mindedly. His doodle was a bunch of sharp swirls, and scorching lines. They had no real meaning to him.

‘And that brings us to your term-paper, which will be a joint endeavour.’ The balding man announced monotonously. A collective groan rose up from the undergraduates as their mood plummeted.

Ignoring the passive resistance, he began to explain the project: to encourage and to stimulate social interaction, the academic had decided that he would try to assign everyone a partner with whom they hadn’t worked together yet.

‘Seeing half of your colleagues decided to skip this class, I’ll find an even more interesting twist to this assignment. As for you,’ a mischievous twinkle hid in his bleak eyes.

‘The boy with the maroon sweater, your name?’ Everyone turned their necks, trying to spot the unfortunate first victim of the professor’s mind game. Isaac was the lucky winner. He meekly pointed at himself and received a confirming nod from the lecturer and a look of sympathy from the other students who were waiting eagerly what would come next.

‘Isaac Lahey.’

‘Yes, you. You will have the pleasure to work with the blond lady in the back. Yes, the girl who is currently rolling her eyes at me. What’s your name, dear?’

‘Erica Reyes.’ The blonde played with her hair, twisting it around her finger.

‘Isn’t that the nympho? Oh God, it’s the nympho. Do something, Stiles!’ Isaac freaked.

‘Wish I could buddy, but he,’ and Stiles pointed with a saliva-coated pen to the sour man in the front ‘makes up the rules. Be sure to bring protection.’ He added an exaggerated wink free of charge.

‘And your lively friend next to you,’ spoke the scholar, addressing Stiles. ‘You will be forming a team with…’ he scanned the lecture hall. ‘Ah, yes, the gentleman sitting closest to the door. Your names please?’

‘Ah, uhm, Stiles Stilinksi, Sir.’ Stiles peeped.

Derek didn’t reply immediately, a signal that he really could not be bothered with the silliness of working in pairs.

‘Derek Hale.’ he sighed.

‘Well, you got grumpy cat as partner,’ Isaac whispered as the professor continued to form groups ‘It seems we both got screwed.’

Stiles nodded, and tried to give an encouraging smile to Derek, who just sat there with a bitter expression on his face.

‘Geez, what a sourpuss. He’s almost as bad as the prof.’

‘You’ll receive your precise assignment later today. Please check your university mailbox.’

Class had ended, Isaac and Stiles shot each other a worrying glance. Neither was looking forward to go and meet their partner. Erica Reyes was known as a sexual predator. Her lusty hunger was insatiable, and she was seen with a new toy every week. Rumours of her promiscuity could be heard everywhere around campus.

Derek Hale was known as the odd duck. He usually hung around the library, engrossed in some obscure book about history.  He barely spoke to anyone except a few close friends: a tall dark man named Vernon Boyd, also a History major, and the tomboyish Allison Argent, a second year Physical Education student. Although his stunning features and mysterious aura lured many suitors, he would reject them without batting an eye, though some claimed he first played around with those unfortunate souls before ripping their hearts out. He was a couple years older than the other students in his year. If you could believe the gossip-mill, it was due to a shady family business, which required him to drop out of school for a few years **.** Neither Isaac nor Stiles had ever actually spoken to either Erica or Derek. But who would, with those rumours?

‘Incoming,’ warned Stiles as Erica Reyes swooped in, wearing her trademark salacious smile, luscious red lips.

‘Well, well,’ she paused a moment, eyeing the baffled Isaac, who stood motionless, tense, next to Stiles. ‘You’re quite adorable, aren’t you? I’m Erica.’

 She extended her hand as a friendly gesture and gave a disarming smirk. Stiles felt Isaac ease up as he shook hands, but then Erica yanked him towards her.

‘We are going to have so much fun.’ she purred, stressing the last three words.

She dragged Isaac to the door, his protests to slow down fell on deaf ears. Stiles just waved with malicious pleasure.

Although it was incredibly amusing to see Isaac being manhandled by a girl who was a good amount shorter than he was, his own grin faltered as he reminded himself he was paired up with a morose reclusive.

His heart throbbed uncomfortably as he walked, somewhat awkwardly, towards Derek. Under Derek’s stern stare, he became hyperaware of his movements. Stiles felt like a tottering scarecrow. The older student observed him closely, bearing a puzzling expression; contempt was a safe guess, Stiles thought.

‘So,’ Stiles began, not knowing where this conversation would go. ‘Partners, huh? Nice. Just to reassure you, I’m a pretty diligent student. Got good grades, and I never have missed a deadline!’

‘Hmph.’

‘Wow, slow down. I didn’t catch that.’ Stiles sarcastically replied. ‘Are you always this much of a chatterbox?’

All Stiles got was a mean leer and a curt ‘Follow me.’

It was settled: Stiles did not like this guy.

‘Where are we going now?’

‘Library.’

‘We can also go to my dorm, or yours. It’s closer by and –‘

‘We can already check out some primary or secondary sources for the paper when we’re there. Professor Harris always sends the topic immediately. We should have our mail by the time we arrive at the library.’

Amazed by Derek’s ability to produce a sentence longer than aheartbeat, Stiles was left, ironically, speechless.  

He may be a total jerk, but that behind is totally a sight for sore eyes, thought Stiles as he ogled Derek’s tight-fitting pants and its contents.

They exited the main building. The university was located in the historical centre of Beacon Hills, England, a vibrant and bustling city. The university itself was a modernized castle dating back from the eleventh century. Continuous renovations had resulted in a variety of architectural styles, but in essence the castle was a Victorian design with Gothic features. It was a spectacular view: high towers, protective curtain walls, elegant lancet arches, impressive glass-stained windows, gargoyles and other ornaments guarding the rooftops. All those elements combined made the palace resemble a picturesque fairy tale castle. 

Every time Stiles walked in or around the university, he could not help but admire the magnificence of the structural designs. This time would have been no exception, if there wasn’t a grumbling old troll stampeding towards the library. Stiles had to burst into a light jog just to keep up with Derek’s gigantic steps.

They crossed the immense yard. Here and there were a couple of students, sitting in a circle, chatting, some playing guitar, others reading books or syllabi, enjoying the last days of summer. Derek took no notice of them and crossed the grass in a straight line, sometimes breaking through a group of undergraduates, who just gaped at his rudeness. Stiles, still running behind, excused himself for Derek’s behaviour to his outraged peers.

‘I’m so sorry, he was raised by wolfs, you see.’

He dug into his pockets for his phone, and texted Isaac:

_I hate this assignment. His manners are terrifying! Think he just kicked a girl in the face. Not sure. You still alive?_

When he lifted his head again, Derek was nowhere to be seen, but you could clearly see more distressed people, all talking about that handsome but bad-mannered guy.

‘Oh boy.’

Stiles stepped off the grassy carpet and continued to the library on the yellow gravel road. An old church was used as storage space for the books. It had been appropriated after the old library had burnt down. Faulty wiring had been the putative cause.

The Gothic church had two titanic towers, almost touching the firmament. In the middle was a smaller tower with a clock. The bell inside hadn’t been rung in years. Stiles wasn’t even sure the clockwork inside still worked. The hands of the clock were frozen. Five to twelve.

Derek stood waiting near the opening, he shifted his weight to his left foot, tapping it in annoyance. Once he saw Stiles, he immediately went inside.

‘Not even the decency to wait. This is gonna be fun.’ Stiles groaned inwardly.

It was dead silent in the library, almost everyone had gone home. The great standing clock near the checkout counter announced it was six o’ clock. God, I’m hungry, Stiles thought. Remembering the chocolate bar in his shoulder bag, he searched for a librarian. When he deemed the coast was clear, he snatched the bar out of his backpack and quickly gobbled it up.

‘What are you doing?’ Derek asked.

Stiles gave a wide smile, flashing his chocolate-stained teeth.

Derek rolled his eyes and motioned Stiles to follow him with his index finger. They made their way to the improvised computer corner where Derek had already booted up a computer. He pulled up a second chair for Stiles. Derek’s finger ran across the keyboard, accessing his inbox. He peered at the new messages. His mouth opened slightly while reading the mail containing their assignment.

As long as he doesn’t frown, he actually has a kind face, Stiles mused to himself.

‘Basically,’ Derek announced ‘We have to re-analyse the events that took place during the Great Fire of London and its effects on politics, economy and such.’

‘Alright, so we should start with a regular history book describing the events, right?’

‘Yeah, you go get the books from the archives in the catacombs. They should be there somewhere. I’ll go get a few secondary sources from the first floor.’

It seemed work-Derek was a lot nicer than regular-Derek. Perhaps nice being an overstatement, but as long as he didn’t scowl or looked like he wanted to kill Stiles, it was all good.

As both men went to their respective destinations, it dawned to Stiles that he’d be going down to the musty basement. He did not particularly like to go there, especially when no one else was there. The electric sprung on, and an eerie atmosphere hung in the library. It’s going to be creepy as hell down there, Stiles thought as he made his way through the rows of books and marble pillars. The library was completely empty which struck him as a bit odd, since there were always one or two students working or reading here until closing time.

The iron staircase leading to the archives was located in the back of the church, near what once had been the altar. Now it was just shelves and bookcases. The narrow flight of steps rambled loudly. The cold humid air took him by surprise.

‘This can’t be good for all the manuscripts and books.’ He wondered out loud.

Heavy corner lamps floodlit the entire basement floor, shedding long shadows in the green-hued vault. The archives took up the entire catacombs, which consisted of seven interconnected caverns. Each chamber was connected by a narrow opening in the stone walls. Stiles took the first passage to his left, entering the part of the archives where primary sources such as eyewitness accounts and descriptions of historical events were kept.

The sound of a howling wind roved the passageways. An icy shiver ran down Stiles’ spine. It was irrational to think he’d be jumped by some sort of ghoul or monster, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. As he moved past the endless rows of leathery books and layers of dust, he checked his back every once in a while to make sure there wasn’t a monster lurking behind a shelf.

When he made it to the right shelf, he realized he hadn’t looked up any identification or classification, meaning he had to manually check every file in the shelf to see if it contained any information about the Great Fire of London. He hit himself on the head for forgetting something so basic.

‘This is going to take a while.’ He muttered dejectedly. ‘Not to mention Derek will probably be pissed as well.’

Miserably, he took the first manuscript off the shelf and began speed-reading for any usable information.

After what seemed an eternity, but was really an hour, Stiles had found two descriptions and three eyewitness statements.

‘This should do the trick. Now, back to Derek and see what he has come up with.’

He lifted the books and began sauntering back to the first floor. When he was almost near the staircase, the lamps flickered ever so slightly. Stiles halted for a moment, clutching the books tightly against his chest. The lamps flickered again, this time it was more noticeable. Without a warning the bulbs shattered, leaving Stiles in complete darkness. The sound of glass shards hailing down ricocheted through the books’ crypt.

Stiles whimpered and took a few steps back, bumping into a hard object. He let out a high shriek and dropped the books. Stiles stumbled and fumbled about, attempting to retrieve the books while at the same time trying to avoid crashing into other bookshelves. At least, that was what Stiles was hoping he collided with. Not wanting to stick around to see if he was wrong, he clawed with one hand through the void hoping to grab hold of the handrails. No such luck.

Stiles could feel a panic attack welling up inside of him. His heart began to beat erratically, his palms began to sweat profusely, and the obscure world around him began to spin. He wobbled as he tried to even out his breath, but it was too late. He could feel control slipping away, his mind went hazy and old nightmares returned. Almost reaching the point of no return, he could only hope Derek would find him when he would finally lose consciousness. But then he unexpectedly saw a little red orb of light near the stairs, shining enough for Stiles to muster enough strength to repress the panic and sprint for stairway. It didn’t even cross his mind how absurd the presence of a floating red sphere was.

Gasping for air when he finally resurfaced from the depths of the basement, Stiles noticed that all lights had gone out here as well.  He laid himself on the floor, trying to calm down, his gaze focussed at the grand ceiling. He still felt a bit light-headed, but he could discern everything thanks to moonlight which seeped through the enormous arched windows.

‘At least I can see everything,’ he lamely attempted to joke to cheer himself up a bit.

‘Librarian! Derek! Someone!’ he called out. Only his own voice travelled the church. No answer. Stiles tried again, a little bit louder this time.

‘Stiles?’ Derek came running from behind a pillar, clearly shocked by seeing Stiles lying on the floor.

‘Damn, are you okay?’ he extended his hand which Stiles happily grabbed.

‘Look at that, the sourpuss has feelings.’ Stiles remarked while pulling himself up.

Derek didn’t appreciate Stiles’ wit, as he loosened his grip and made Stiles do a pratfall.

‘Auch!’

‘There is no one here but us. I already checked the other floors.’ Derek stated matter-of-factly. ‘Oh, and it seems we’re locked in.’

‘You’re going to murder me, aren’t you?’ Stiles eyes were big with fright.

‘What? No! Why do you keep portraying me as the Big Bad Wolf?’ Derek snapped. ‘You know what? Never mind. Seeing we’re stuck here for the night probably, let’s get some work done and find a place to rest. I recall some cushioned seats up on the second floor.’

‘And how are we supposed to do any work with no lights? The moonlight isn’t bright enough. Besides I’m not staying here an entire night. Call the janitor. Call the dean if you have to!’ It irked Stiles to no end that Derek only had the assignment on his mind.

‘Check your cell phone. No connection. Also, you have a flashlight app on your phone too right? We’ll use those.’

‘This is going to be a long night.’

Derek walked back to the computer corner, leaving Stiles alone, who was rubbing his sore behind.

*

‘You know what’s strange? These eyewitnesses seem to contradict each other.’ Stiles quietly spoke. They had been studying the books for over two hours now. Their phones were almost out of juice.

‘How so?’ Derek seemed genuinely interested, turning his attention from an alarmingly big book to Stiles.

‘One account states they saw black clouds, on an otherwise clear day at 6 o’ clock in the evening. So, if we assume that’s the time the fire started, there shouldn’t be any problem, correct?’

‘Go on.’ Derek’s voice turned a bit sceptical.

‘But two other witnesses plus the descriptions of that day clearly mention the fire broke out at midnight. Also, the fire didn’t slowly spread. If you go by these detailed statements, it just,’ Stiles waved his hands in the air ‘poof, appeared. Out of nowhere.’

‘I doubt you’re on to something, Stiles.’ Stiles perked up. ‘It could’ve been just some clouds passing.’ This was the first time Derek had said his name. ‘This isn’t the first time these documents have been studied. Plus they’re quite old, it’s easy for inaccuracies to slip in these kinds of documents.’ Stiles wasn’t too happy to hear Derek brush off his findings as unimportant.

‘But, what if there are more accounts that state a big black cloud was there earlier before the fire? I need more evidence.’ He bit his lip.

‘Oh, are you going back to the archives then?’ Stiles paled at the thought of going back to that Underworld-like nightmare.

‘Shit, I was kidding.’ Derek turned into an overprotective friend when he saw the blood drain out of Stiles already milky face. ‘You alright?’

‘Yeah…’ Stiles answered distractedly. ‘Say, when you were here, and the lights went out, did you notice anything weird or unusual?’

‘Not in particular. Why? Did something happened downstairs?’

‘I saw a red orb, but I think that was just the emergency light. Panic attacks can make you hallucinate a bit.’

Stiles could feel Derek was a bit alarmed when he mentioned ‘panic attacks’, but since he didn’t comment on it any further.

‘Wanna go the second floor, look for those comfy seats?’ Stiles felt tired and the shock of what happened in the catacombs still had him a bit shaken up.

‘Sure. My phone’s flashlight can still safely guide us up the stairs. Battery will run out soon though.’ Derek’s mood seemed to be a little bit better; he didn’t wear a grimace anymore or any other dirty look, nor did he give short, rude replies. He still was a bit tense and hesitant to engage in conversation, but at least he wasn’t being a jerk anymore. A major improvement, in Stiles humble opinion.

They packed their stuff, agreeing to take the books with them, and were carefully walking towards the flight of stairs leading towards the second floor when suddenly, out of nowhere, the organ started playing.


	3. Phantom of the church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is here! Next chapter might take a while, but be assured, I won't drop the project! Updates might take a while, sometimes I'm hit with inspiration for a oneshot, and I just have to write it then. No worries though :)
> 
> Enjoy
> 
> feel free to pop by on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/perksofbeingaverage

Without any warning, sinister music blasted out of the organ. The tune was familiar. It was Saint Saëns’ _Danse Macabre_. The chaotic successions of chords filled the church with its haunting melody. Stiles cowered, hands pressed to his ears, trying to keep out the maddening melody. His body shook uncontrollably.

‘Make it stop!’ he screamed, terrified. He started writhing on the cold, marble floor.

Derek was taken by complete surprise. He was torn between helping Stiles and running up to the organ room.

Derek also knew the music piece, but something was not right.  Somehow, the notes seemed harsher, more dissonant, and more devilish. It was as if Death himself was playing the organ.

Derek hunkered down, trying to meet Stiles’s eyes, which were glazed over. A sudden and violent stabbing headache blurred his own vision, one hand pressed against his temple, the other firmly planted against to ground to keep him from falling.  The sounds of screams, devilish chords and Derek’s own groaning filled the church. The Dance continued.

The moon shone quietly while the melody, filled with vexing tritones, continued to bind the boys to the marble.

A little bit further up in the church, the mechanic gears of the clock tower slowly began to grind against each other. A measured movement at first, but soon they were crunching away at full speed. Outside, the moon, watching dutifully from the heavens, irradiated the primeval clock. And then the moment arrived: all heavenly bodies aligned, forming a celestial arrow. A unique happening, once every thousand years, which had astronomers all over the world on the edge of their seat, had finally begun. They could not, however, grasp the full extent of what was about to unfold. The giant hands started to move. Counting down to the beginning of the End.

Derek’s instinct told him to stay with Stiles, but if he could save both of them by stopping the organ from playing, he was willing to take the risk of leaving Stiles alone. With great effort he managed to get up and rush up the marble stairs, head pounding, throat tightened by an invisible hand. The door leading to the organ room was across the staircase on the first floor. Each step sentexcruciating jolts to his brain. But perhaps it was the music. Derek slammed into the closed door. A hooded figure sat at the organ, fingers gliding graciously over the keys. A purple haze of symbols seemed to escape from the windpipes. Derek tried to reach the individual, but collapsed on the ground, paralyzed by pain.

Death’s dance reached its finale and so did the clock. The hands pointed at the roman twelve. The silver bells tolled. One. Two. Three. Stiles passed out. Four. Five. Six. Figments of memories flew before Derek’s eyes. Seven. Eight. Nine.  The smell of burnt flesh and singed hair. Ten. Eleven. A shadow loomed over Stiles. Twelve. Sleep.

*

The hooded figure sat on the bench near the organ, legs crossed. A second spectre appeared, an unconsciousness Stiles floating next to the shadow.

‘Did the magic work?’ a young woman’s voice asked.

‘Of course, are you doubting my skills?’ the other snappily replied.

‘Come on, Lydia, I didn’t mean it like that.’ The second cloak removed its cowl, revealing a twenty year old girl, hair black as the night, lips as red as blood and a skin as white as snow. ‘They could have been possessed, or a demon could have left a hex.’

‘Allison, I took care of that this morning when I planted some protective charms near the entrance. No evil could enter.’ Death also bared its face: ginger blond hair flowing down a beautiful but haughty heart-shaped face.

‘Just making sure. Now, what about these two?’ she motioned to the still men. Lydia uncrossed her legs and raised herself. She snapped her fingers, making Derek levitate as well.

‘Take ‘em up to the second floor, let them settle on the seats there, give them some protection and finish the contract ritual. Fate will take care of the rest.’

‘And by Fate you mean…’ Allison enquired tentatively.

‘Us, unfortunately. But I always wanted to say that phrase. It sounds so splendid in the movies.’ It seemed even witches had a certain sense of humour.

As they ascended to the second floor, floating Stiles and Derek in tow, they discussed the next steps.

‘But what if, once faced with the option to contract the Queen, they refuse?’

‘They won’t. Once they hear what’s at stake.’

The seats were placed in a corner of the second floor. The interior designers probably wanted to go with a very comfy reader-corner fashion, but instead had managed to come up with a sad looking pair a cushioned seats and a torn bean bag which had clearly seen better days

Lydia waved her hand in an arc-like movement. Derek was placed on the first seat, near a mahogany desk. Lydia was about to move Stiles to the opposing seat when she had a stroke of roguish genius.

‘What if we had a little fun with these two? You said they were soul mates, right?’

‘Yeah, what are you getting at?’ Allison cocked her head in confusion.

A simple wave of Lydia’s hand moved Stiles right in Derek’s lap.

‘Lydia…’ Allison warned.

‘Oh, what? It won’t harm them. Not really.’ Her eyes glinted dangerously. ‘Let’s continue the ritual. You take the stubble-guy. After all, you are friends. I’ll take spindly-looking one.’

Both girls were in the middle of their magic when Lydia unexpectedly encountered a fiery insignia on Stiles’s soul. She lifted his shirt, the mark glowingly tattooed on his heaving chest.

‘That’s odd. He already holds/claims the mark of contract. I don’t recognize it though. I do sense some malign energy.’

‘I don’t recognize it either,’ Allison swished her hand in the air. Nothing happened. ‘Doesn’t seem to react to magic. Will he able to make another contract?’

‘This is unprecedented. I think we’ll have to see what’ll happen. But just to be safe,’ she began rummaging in her side pouch and withdrew a dusty, old rag. She pressed the rag against Stiles’s chest, mumbled a few words in a foreign tongue. After she inspected the rag carefully, she safely hid it again the pouch,

‘In case something happens,’ she said ‘We’ll have some kind of back-up.’ She had a solemn air around her.

Having finished the enigmatic ritual, the girls settled against the wall, resting, but still keeping a cautious eye on the two boys.

‘Have you finished your Advanced  Mathematical Theory assignment yet?’  Allison asked.

‘Uh, I still have to write two or three pages. The problem really is that I find the topic we’re discussing really trivial. I solved the bloody thing in less than an hour, whereas the professor keeps telling it’s ‘unsolvable’. Really, how narrow-minded, unimaginative people like that become teachers. It’s beyond me – never mind.’ She flapped little dust bunnies off her cloak.

Discussing infuriating lecturers, suffocating deadlines, and smart guys, their conversation fell still, both were relishing the sweet moment of respite. Conjuring, bewitching and what not was in fact quite tiring.

The sun had begun to send its first ships, tentatively sailing the open skies. An auspicious orange painted the horizon.

‘They’ll be waking up soon.’ Allison raised her hand, bathed it in the sun’s friendliness.

Lydia got up with a tremendous effort. She shuffled to Allison and took her hand. Her other hand retrieved a plain looking coin; a penny. She tossed it up, high. It flipped one hundred and sixties times and when it hit the ground there was no more sign of the two witches.

*

Stiles woke up to a musky scent, mixed with a hint of sweat. He kind of liked it. A warm breath tickled his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the view of a stubble and someone’s ear. That ear was Derek’s. It took a moment for Stiles to cope with the absurdity of the situation. He had no recollection of last night, and here he was now, sitting in the lap of his sleeping paper partner. Stiles actually took pleasure in being so close to Derek; the feel of another human being so close. It was safe and comforting. It was like coming home. A pang of sadness and melancholy hit him right in the heart. He selfishly wished this moment could last for eternity. And that was strange, for he barely knew Derek. 

He tried to stand up, trying not to wake the sleeper, but he felt something hard pressing near his rear. Shocked, he fell on his behind of the cold tile floor. His yelp awakened Derek from his slumber. Derek immediately shot up, a little disorientated and unsteady on the feet. ‘Kelly Clarkson!’ he mumbled

‘This is the second time I’m on the floor thanks to you.’ Stiles whined.

Derek was still busy brushing sleep out of his eyes and taking in the unfamiliar scenery. Then it all came rushing back: the paper, the lock-in, the reading and the sleeping. Nothing else.

Derek, properly adjusted now, mouthed an excuse. ’Sorry for letting you drop when you came back from the archives. And for now, although I don’t really see how that’s my mistake.’

 ‘It’s okay, I usually don’t mind a sore ass,’ Stiles gave a lecherous smile. ‘But in different circumstances.’

Stiles’s eyes fell on a protruding piece of ornament on the chair, and his smirk was wiped clean off his face. So _that_ was what I felt, he mentally cried.

Derek frowned, eyeing him suspiciously, but a faint pink tint crept on his cheeks. He quickly moved to the balustrade, and saw the front door had been unlocked.

‘It’s seems we can finally go.’ He took a swift sniff of his shirt and made a face like he had just swallowed a lemon.

‘Good thing the dorms are close by.’ Stiles had joined him and playfully nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. Derek looked uncomfortable with the sudden contact, and not wanting to overstep the boundaries of this new-born, fragile friendship, Stiles immediately took a sideward step.

‘Well then,’ Stiles began somewhat tentatively ‘This was sufficiently awkward. At least we got some work done. I’m off to my dorm, hop in the shower and back to bed.’

‘Yeah, about that… I’m not residing in any dorms, and my house is actually just outside the historic centre.’ Stiles could practically hear Derek’s mental struggling. ‘Could I perhaps borrow your shower too? If that’s not too much to ask.’

‘Uh, ah. Haha. N-n-no. Totally fine.’ The smile he gave hurt the corners of his mouth. Overkill.

They walked in silence back to Stiles’s dorm, still a bit shaken from their encounter with a particularly ferocious librarian. At first, she was baffled; you don’t see two students with bed hair _leaving_ the library first thing in the morning. Then she got quite cross, threateningly holding two heavy anthologies over her head. Probably to be used as weapons. Stiles and Derek plentifully offered apologies and explanations. But it seemed that only made the librarian more furious. Stiles swore he saw see steam coming out of her ears. When all else had failed, they made a run for it. Now, a safe distance away from the library, they leisurely strolled towards Stiles’s room.

The golden grit underneath their feet capered with a satisfying crunch. The azure sky was vivid, and the grass was emerald. Somehow, everything appeared more alive and vibrant and intense. The smell of mown grass lingered in the air. Birds chirped happily and Stiles swore he saw some squirrels in the occasional tree. The wind chimed. Colours were brilliant and bright. There was no rational way to explain the sudden change of the surroundings. It was if, the moment they had left arched doorway of the church, they had been rewritten to the very first pages of an enchanting fairy tale.

Stiles blamed the sleepiness.

*

Upon entering the small and messy, book-and-paper-ridden room Derek tried not to focus on the pair of underwear that was seductively laid out before his feet. He found Stiles’s constant jabbering on the way here annoying to no end, but at the same time believed it to be endearing and rather cute. Stiles had the kind of vivacious energy he could barely scrape together. He preferred being introverted, staying in the background. Watching instead of partaking. He kept is stoic shield up, because it worked and it would keep working. Yet, Stiles had in the short time they had spent together, slithered underneath the mask, and managed to take a glimpse of what was underneath, even if Stiles himself had no idea of that.

‘I’m terribly sorry about the mess. I usually don’t get much visitors. Usually at Scott’s.’

Derek just stood in silence as he compliantly accepted a towel, washcloth and a fresh shirt from Stiles.

‘Guests first! You just go right, and go to the end of the hall. Showers are there. No worries, there are stalls, and it’s clean. Really clean. You _can_ borrow my flip-flops, but,’ he stared at Derek’s big feet ‘I don’t really think they’ll fit.’

‘It’s okay.’ And with that being said, Derek trotted off towards the end of the hall, to the very clean showers.

Little clouds of steam hid the cubicles in the shower room. Derek was hesistant in entering. A valve was squeaked and a girl, covered by a single towel wrapped around her tiny frame, came out of the haze.

‘Derek?’ she was clearly surprised.

‘Allison?’ replied an equally surprised Derek.

‘I didn’t know you were living here.’

‘Oh, yeah. Moved in just this semester. Dad’s going abroad for a year. Europe.’ She wore a haggard expression.

‘Are you okay? You seem tired.’

‘Yeah, fine. Just had a rough night. What about you. What are you doing here?’ Her voice was strained, and her eyes darted back and forth.

‘Take care, okay?’

‘Yeah, sure. Just, papers and stuff,’ she brushed a drooping strand of hair behind her ear. ‘But what are you doing here?’

‘Ah, weird stuff. We got locked in the library, somehow fell asleep there and Stiles offered me a shower here.’

Allison’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

‘Well, enjoy.’ She took off hastily, leaving a trail of puddles. In her rush, she almost slipped.

*

Stiles immediately fell on his bed when Derek went off to the showers. He was beat. While Derek was currently occupied with a hot stream of water cascading down his body, Stiles was located in the oblivion between waking and dreaming. His body was numb, yet his mind was racing through a hall of hallucinating pictures. This muddled, deprived state of mind made him delirious, or so he thought – was it even his thought? It was all so hazy. He wavered on the doorstep of sleep. He believed he heard voices. High-pitched, child-like voices; impish and animated. What were they saying? Something about new contracts? Big monkeys? Weird looking spots?

‘My birthmarks are awesome.’ He muttered.

‘He can hear us? Sh-t. Let’s get out.’

The dull thump of a book falling on the ground roused Stiles; all still unclear. He stared at his ceiling, decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. He covered his eyes with his left arm, a loud yawn escaped. Unaware of anyone or anything in his room. It was all quiet then, perhaps a few sounds made it to his room through the open window. A few chunks of a conversation, the rustling of grass, and rattling of bikes.

Sleepiness was replaced by something else as his other hand slowly moved down his body. Sliding underneath his chino pants, he played with the waistband of his boxers, tugging it, teasing it. His fingertips went up, softly trailed his abdomen; a ticklish sensation spread from his spine all the way to his feet, arched with delight. He pushed his head deeper in the pillow. His hand ventured back, exploring deeper this time. An insatiable hunger wakened below, rising like a fever. It burned with desire. An assertive grasp was followed by a bold moan. It was, unfortunately, not enough. There was something missing; the final puzzle piece was not there. It did not matter to Stiles though. His movements became more fervent, a clear goal in mind. He hissed loudly, enraptured by the strokes, each time hitting more close to the home-base. Nearing the edge, he was unmindful of Derek, who currently curled his fingers around the door’s handle.

‘Stiles, do y-‘ Derek didn’t know whether to be aroused or offended.

‘Dude,’ Stiles, in a flurry of movements, wrapped himself in a bundle of bed sheets. ‘Knock! Knock first!’

‘Oh, I’m sorry! Please, finish! I’ll come and gather my shoes and stuff at another time more convenient.’ The next sentence, according to Derek, if his opinion on the matter was ever asked, was a slip of the tongue. Just something said in the heat of the moment: ‘were you waiting for a hand, perhaps?!’

Stiles, insolently cocking his head, ‘Well, if you’re offering…’

‘No!’ but perhaps Derek meant ‘yes’. No one in that room was really sure of anything.

‘I’ll just,’ he awkwardly made his way through the mess, collected his stuff and stood, back turned to Stiles, in the open door ‘I’ll send you a copy of what we did so far for the paper. And, uh, yeah. Bye.’

‘Not like I had it whipped-out or anything. Prude.’ Stiles muttered as the surprise had passed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Chapter 4 is here!  
> I would really appreciate feedback, since I am not too sure about the development (character-wise), or the pacing. Please let me know in the comments what you think!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> Unbeta'd

After Stiles had been caught in the act, he didn’t see Derek for a while, ten days to be exact, which was rather problematic due to the fact they had to complete a group assignment together. They still had some time before the deadline, but Stiles did not like this twisted procrastinating. It also didn’t really help Stiles that Derek ignored all his e-mails and suggestions of working together via e-mailing and the internet, thus successfully minimizing face-to-face contact and possible embarrassment. He did it for Derek, really. That guy had no social skills whatsoever. Maybe some impersonal online communicating would remedy that and his unfriendly attitude.

And so the days crept by, the last breaths of summer quietly hushed by autumn. The trees started donning a new coat, painting their leaves gratified maroon, docile ochre, violent red, cluttered brown and splashing lingering spots of green here and there. Together with the change of seasonal scenery, a chilly wind arrived, snatching the leaves from their homes and scattering them in the air, twirling and floating. Off on a new journey. Also for Stiles and Derek was an adventure waiting. They just didn’t know it yet.

‘So, I was just flipping the pages, minding my own business, when suddenly she grabs me from behind and asks me if I ever did it in a public place. I swear, that girl is crazy!’ Poor Isaac rambled, still flabbergasted by Erica’s sexual advances.

It was eleven p.m. and Stiles was sitting in the common room of their dormitory, together with his best friend Scott and his boyfriend Isaac, still traumatized by Erica’s fierce personality, recounting the Erica’s latest attack during the joint history project. Erica and Isaac actually did a pretty good job working together. After Isaac had warned Erica several times he already had a boyfriend whom he loved dearly, she finally understood she was barking up the wrong tree. That doesn’t mean she didn’t occasionally tried to bite, much to Isaac’s chagrin. Scott just laughed heartily whenever Isaac came up to him, teary-eyed, telling whatever Erica had tried to do next.

Stiles had known Scott since kindergarten. Stiles and Scott bonded over a mutual interest in building sand castles and getting into random trouble, ranging from hiding crayons to leaving colourful fingerprints on the teacher’s behind. On one destined field-trip to the local forest, to learn about fauna and flora, Stiles and Scott, who were not exactly paying careful attention to the group, got separated from the rest. Stiles, panicky by nature, started to hyperventilate, weeping they’d never be found and probably get eaten by a mad bear, or a wolf. Maybe an angry beaver. Scott’s natural leader instinct kicked in, luckily. He firmly grabbed Stiles had and he proudly scampered the woods with a sobbing Stiles in tow. They had some minor bumps on the road, such as Stiles peeing his pants a bit when a squirrel came a little bit too close. All the way, through showers of sun reaching through the roof of leaves, Scott told Stiles stories to keep the younger boy calm. The strategy did work, but the moment Stiles’s stomach began to growl, he began to sob uncontrollably, thinking there was a monster. For a small child, Scott was incredibly patient, soothing Stiles. When the two kids finally re-joined the group, and after some serious fussing and scolding from the teachers, Stiles said he’d never let go of Scott, who was his miniature knight in shining armour. Stiles meant what he said as they have been inseparable ever since.  The co-dependency on Stiles’s part has slinked down though.

Scott and Stiles met Isaac in sophomore year at Beacon High. Isaac, being the new kid at school, kept a low profile for a while. When he was partnered up with Stiles during a science project, the two quickly befriended each other because of their shared love for Star Wars. Stiles was more of a Han Solo-guy whereas Isaac preferred Luke Skywalker. Both idolized Yoda, often having entire conversations in broken grammar in the style of the wise Jedi master. And on one fateful day, Stiles, Scott, Isaac and a few other boys got in detention after an incident with some dodgeballs and a coconut. Scott and Isaac hadn’t really talked to each other, but then they were picked by the teacher to go and get some supplies. When they came back, both were red and slightly panting. The teacher made a smart comment on how boys these days don’t have any stamina. Stiles, however, noticed Scott’s shirt was inside out, and figured the panting might have had another cause. And after weeks of flirtatious gazing, cute little notes and bumping shoulders, Scott took Isaac behind the bleachers after winning the lacrosse championship and sealed the deal. They’re now practically married.

Isaac’s always been the more quiet type. Or at least, that is what everyone thinks. Isaac is actually an evil mastermind, or so Scott always says. Isaac usually came up with brilliant schemes or pranks when they were high school, but was smart enough to let Stiles and Scott do the dirty work. His impish side has diminished over the years, making room for a more gentle and laidback temperament, though he sometimes still has a stroke of devious brilliance.

For example, last winter he coated his noisy neighbour’s boxers with itching powder, after what had been the umpteenth night of blasting music till four in the morning. Isaac – one of the many people who came complaining – had many times politely requested to stop, or at least lower the volume so earplugs would be effective, but Mr Annoying Neighbour always said the same thing: ‘Sure buddy, I’ll do just that,’ adding an infuriating smirk free of charge and then slam the door in Isaac’s face. Unfortunately, this handsome, yet condescending student was a spoiled rich kid, who had always gotten his way. A little slip of a green note and all his problems disappeared.  Isaac was not convinced by the wad of cash. Nope, he wanted justice. And one wintery day, after Mr Annoying was gone to attend his lectures that day, Isaac snuck in the room and well... he had a swell time in there with his box of extra strong itching powder. He had left a note: ‘You’ve been warned. Next time, it’ll be worse. Love The Entire Dorm’.

Annoying Neighbour, also known as Jackson Whittemore, disregarded the note as an empty threat. Big mistake. The next day, after night filled with dubstep, when slipping in a new pair of underwear, his screams and obscenities were heard throughout the entire dorm. That was the last time he played his music so loud that late at night. In fact, he started respecting a lot more dormitory rules after that. And Isaac was to thank for that.

Stiles occupied an entire seat next to the fireplace, stretch out like a cat on the sofa, enjoying the crackling of the flames. Isaac, who sat on the carpet leaned back, resting his head against Scott’s knee.

‘Every time we meet, I fear for my straight virginity, which, by the way,’ he added seriously ‘I am never planning on losing.’

Scott just let out a chuckle, playing with Isaac’s curly hair.

‘Besides, who knows where that,’ referring to Erica ‘has been? I’m not really in the market for an STD, you know?’

‘I don’t think she’ll do anything,’ Scott replied, seemingly unfazed by the potential threat. ‘Erica just messes around, but I don’t think she’ll actually go in for the kill.’ Scott’s voice did falter in the end, not completely sure. Neither Stiles, Scott nor Isaac actually knew anything about Erica, except her reputation.

‘Ugh, so unfair!’ Stiles whined from the other sofa. ‘Here I am, not getting any, and there you are, having mind-blowing lovin’ with Scott with a potential side-dish of Erica.’

‘I’m not a big fan of side-courses.’ Isaac replied dryly, looking up at Scott, who just went in to give a short peck on Isaac’s head.

‘Yuck. Love’

‘There’s more to life than just sex, Stiles. When you find that deep connection with that special someone,’ Scott playfully messed up Isaac’s hair ‘I can’t exactly describe it, but it’s just whole. It feels right. A warm, fuzzy feeling. Or when you find that one pair of sweats that’s just right.’ Scott sagely countered.

‘Whatevs.’

*

The fire was almost gone. Only a few embers remained, beating like little hearts. The room was dark, only the hearth emitted a soft glow. Scott and Isaac had retreated to Scott’s room and Stiles had dozed off on the couch. He snored lightly. Unbeknownst to anyone, three little creatures stole their way into the common room. Their tiny, droplet-shaped bodies were covered in leaves. Beady eyes were scanning the room for any potential danger or gawkers. They toddled over to the couch where the tired student was sleeping and stopped right in front of his dangling arm.

‘This the guy Lydia said we had to give the letter to?’ one of them squeaked.

‘Keep t’at voice down, you bloody oaf! Want ‘im to wake up?!’ another croaked.

The two creatures began to bicker.

‘I’ll stick a twig so far up you-’

‘Leif, please. Manners. Now, give me the letter, I’ll put it beside him.’

‘Watcha talkin’ ‘bout, Lay? Thought you ‘ad it?’

Uh-oh.

Sparks flew as the three woodland beasties accused each other of carelessness. The high-pitched tantrum caused Stiles to stir in his sleep, effectively shutting those little mouths.

‘I don’t know why Leia put me up with you two dingbats. You two mess-ups can’t even comple-‘

‘Shush,’ the grumpy ball of leaves covered his lecturing friend’s mouth ‘You ‘ear t’at? Sounds like ‘em tickin’ shoes.’

‘Quick! Hide!’ the youngest panicked. The wooden floor creaked, and the distinct tapping of five inch heels could be heard. The three imps shot underneath the sofa.

A pair of purple stiletto’s entered the common room with great confidence and made their way to the oblivious sleeper.

Out of nowhere, a heavy pressure formed on Stiles’s chest. A weight centred at the height of his sternum. In his deep slumbering state, he thought a hippo sat on him. The hippo transformed into the goofy face of Scott, who kept jumping up and down. What a weird dream, Stiles thought.

‘Uuuh, Scott. You’re so heavy. Get that fat ass off of me.’ The weight disappeared as quickly as it came.

‘Pardon me?’ the soprano voice was accompanied with a stinging nipple-twist.

‘Ah, fuck. Dude!’

‘I prefer the term dudette.’

Stiles sat up straight, a light dizziness washed over him. A tall silhouette stood before him. Flowing blonde hair and a pair of voluptuous breasts met his line of vision, two hands resting on seductive hips.

‘Erica? What the hell are you doing here? It’s,’ Stiles pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen ‘Oh, ten-thirty. Kinda disappointing, gotta say. Still, what are you doing here?’

‘I was looking for Isaac, I encountered a slight hiccup when I was editing our assignment.’

‘Hiccup?’

‘I deleted the file. Poof, vanished in the air. Checked everywhere on my computer. No byte left. Technology can’t be trusted. So I came here, looking for Isaac. He should have a copy.’ She twirled her finger in the air.

‘You could’ve waited ‘til tomorrow. We’ve got class together anyway.’ Stiles eyed her carefully. ‘Or mailed him.’ He added.

Behind those layers of make-up and curtains of bleached hair lurked something deceitful. At least, that is what he thought. With all those rumours, who could blame a guy anyway for being a bit reluctant towards this mass of pure sexual prowess? Erica folded her arms and shifted her weight to her left foot. She tapped her chin with an elegant finger.

‘But then I’d miss the glorious opportunity of messing with Isaac!’ she exclaimed gleefully.

‘Wait, what? Messing with him?’ Stiles asked, his interested piqued by the sudden turn of events. He straightened himself a bit more.

‘Yeah. Lemme guess, he comes crying to you about how I put my moves on him, right? I’m just screwing with the guy. His reactions are golden.’ She had a dangerous glint in her feline eyes. ‘I’ll admit he’s a good-looking guy, not my type though. Plus he’s seeing someone. I’m not a home wrecker, you know.’

‘That’s not what I heard’ Stiles almost replied, but instead managed to filter his rude comment to ‘Good to know.’ Stiles contemplated his next course of action. He could either point Erica to Scott’s room or lie and tell that Isaac and Scott went out clubbing, or he could accompany her and help her mess with Isaac.

‘Don’t hurt yourself.’ Erica sarcastically said.

‘Huh?’ Stiles gave a confused look.

‘Thinking.’ She tapped her index finger against her temple.

Stiles pouted. A manly pout.

‘You’ll just kid around a bit?’ Erica nodded. ‘Alright, follow me.’

‘Good boy.’

And all that time, underneath the couch, were three little bundles of leaves huddled together, shivering.

‘She was fierce.’ Leif said. The other two agreed.

*

‘I’ll show you his room and then you can –,’ he stopped mid-sentence. In the middle of the hall stood Derek, his back turned towards Stiles and Erica, searching for something. He intensely inspected the numbers on the doors and the name of the inhabitant underneath. Was he here to see Stiles?

‘Hey, you mind if I just give you Scott’s room number? I think that big guy there is here for me. I hope.’

‘Aaw, you wanna get laid.’

‘What? No! Nothing like that. Anyway, Scott is at number 138, left side. Isaac should be there. Try room 203 if no one is there. That’s Isaac’s room. You good?’

‘Swell.’ Erica winked and waved goodbye. When she passed Derek, she gave him a light tap on his behind with, enjoying it a bit too much for Stiles’s liking. Derek, who had no idea what just happened, jumped up like a startled cat. His face was contorted in shock and disgust while Erica practically beamed with pleasure. Boy, he does not like human contact, Stiles thought.

‘Derek, what are you doing here?’ he started with a relatively harmless question, as not to scare off the recently harassed man.

‘Looking for you. I’ve got some bad news.’

‘You’re pregnant? I knew it! You’ve got that prenatal glow.’ Stiles attempt at a joke was met with a blank expression.

‘Okay, I’ll take that as a no. What’s wrong?’

‘I lost our assignment for professor Greenberg’s class.’ No sign of panic on Derek’s face did comfort Stiles a little, but he was still confused why Derek would come and tell him this.

‘So? We’ll just pop by the library real quick, get our sources and re-do it. We didn’t have a lot to begin with so the loss isn’t that bad. You should have sent me a back-up, though. But you were too busy ignoring me.’ Low blow.

Derek, taken aback, failed to come up with a reply. A moment of silence passed while Stiles, enjoying Derek’s awkwardness a bit too much, sighed with mock disappointment.

‘I kinda finished it, but then it suddenly disappeared and now I don’t have the time to do it all by myself.’

This was an interesting, not exactly good, turn of events.

‘You finished it? By yourself?’

‘I just said so.’

‘You… Moron!’ Stiles sucker-punched Derek in the shoulder. ‘This is supposed to be a team effort! Is this payback because you caught me spanking my monkey? Is this revenge because you don’t like me for some twisted reason? I’ll have you know, I am generally a likeable, amiable person, but you really, really make it hard for me to be that friendly. And now you come back saying you need me help this time? Boy, you are an ass.’ Stiles was more irritated by Derek’s lack of communication than the fact that he did the assignment already behind his back.

Derek’s chest heaved, as if he was controlling a ravaging beast within, trying to contain his emotions.

‘What? Are you just going to stand there? Say nothing? Tell me, I want to know, what is it exactly you don’t like about me?’

Derek’s reply was an angry stare.

‘Fine. You know what? Figure it out on your own. I’m going to see Greenberg tomorrow and ask if I can’t switch partners. Hell, I’d even wanna do this stupid task by myself.’

‘I just thought,’ he growled.

‘Ha! Maybe that’s your problem. Communicate with others instead of thinking on your own. You’re even worse than… than… I don’t know!’ Ooh, lame comeback. Not his best. But why was he getting all riled up? Why did Derek had to obnoxious ability to crawl under his skin so easily?

Stiles stormed past Derek, destination his room, when Derek yanked him back, pushing him roughly against the wall.

‘Listen to me. I. Am. Sorry.’ Derek articulated the words carefully and controlled, but an aggressive undertone slipped through. Also, his violent grabbing and pushing of Stiles might not have been the best of moves.

Stiles was scared, but, oddly, kind of turned on too. He could feel Derek’s warm breath tickling his skin.

‘You should really control that temper, buddy.’

Derek briefly looked down at his hands, a fistful of Stiles’s shirt in each one, before he let go, clearly mortified by his outburst.

‘I, I’m sorry.’

‘I was going to make a man-period joke, but…’ Always best to test the waters first, especially when dealing with Beast here.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow in class?’

‘Yup. And we’ll go to the library afterwards? Get our sources and stuff?’

‘Alright.’

Derek began walking towards the exit, the flickering light bulbs buzzed, when he stopped in his tracks.

‘Do you hear that?’

Stiles, who was about to enter his room, listened intently. A scream came from the floor above.

‘Ah, don’t worry. That’s just Isaac who’s probably being chased by Erica right now.’

‘Hmmm. Ah, Stiles, I’m really sorry I lashed out. I have some anger issues.’ he smiled apologetically. ‘It’s not that I dislike you or anything.’

‘It’s okay. Just keep it in your pants next time.’

‘Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?’

‘Look at that! It can joke.’


End file.
